“Very well,” the Sorceress sighed, rolling her eyes at the obvious distress the assassin was in. “I shall give you back your most prized possession.”
She closed her eyes and stretched her fingers out towards the transformed assassin. Her brow knotted together as she started chanting. The Akkadian’s eyes narrowed as he watched blue energy gather in the space between her fingers. He gave out a high pitched girlishly squeal of surprise as lightning arced out of her digits and struck him. The tingling sensation once again spread through his body before the feeling gathered around his crotch. Suddenly something pulled at his groin, making him stumble forward. One of his hands trembled as it reached between his legs and found his oldest companion hard and at attention.
He practically tore off his loincloth to make sure that his hands weren’t deceiving him. His eyes widened when he noticed that he still possessed the whore’s pussy, with her cunt lips artfully darkened with henna to contrast her tanned skin. Where her clitoris would normally be, however, was where his cock now stood. Long, thick, and capable of pleasing any woman, his was a fine example of manhood which looked even larger and more impressive on the whore’s womanly body.
“This will complicate matters without a doubt,” the Sorceress sighed, wiping the sweat from her brow. “With every use of your cock my magic’s hold on you will weaken—you’ll start changing back.” She brushed back a stray lock of hair from her face as she turned her full attention back to the newly transformed assassin. “If you are not careful then it won’t be a whore that Trimon will be fucking up the ass—it’ll be a stupid muscle-bound Akkadian who couldn’t keep it in his pants.” Her glare was venomous as she turned it to the staff that peeked out of the top of his pants as if it had already caused him to fail her.
The assassin, for one, was glad to have his manhood back. Without it he would, well, he would simply be a woman.
“Change outfits with the whore!” the Sorceress commanded, ripping the assassin’s clothes apart with a flick of her wrist. “We’ve already wasted enough time getting you back your precious pecker.”
The Akkadian took a step forward and nearly sliced his foot off. His eyes widened when he realized that there was an invisible blade at his feet—that was what had sliced his clothing in half. With careful hands, he reached down and carefully felt for the weapon. It was a dagger, thin and sharp as a razor; excellent for slitting a throat or plunging into a heart. Weighing the weapon in his hand, he found a smile growing across his painted lips.
|